“Nope.”
“No registration systems.”
“Some places do,” I offer weakly.
“But not all?”
“Nope.”
He shakes his head slowly. “You live in chaos.”
“Now you see why I needed antidepressants.”
George worms his way into of my arms, yelling at absolutely nothing. Caziel watches him. Then me. There’s something quieter now between us—beneath the laughter, under the sarcasm. Something closer to understanding.
“I didn’t expect any of this,” I say softly. “Not the cat. Not the meds. Definitely not your Earth fashion.”
“You needed grounding.”
“And you needed a blood pact with a four-legged menace.”
“Apparently.”
We sit with that for a moment. The fireplace crackles. George eats like he’s making a point. I brush his tail and murmur, “You’re full of surprises, you know.”
“So are you.”
I glance up. Caziel is watching me. Still. Quiet. Present. George is asleep on my legs, a heavy, judgmental heater. The room is warm now. Not just temperature—warm. Like it’s mine. Like I belong in it. There’s a cat hair on my pillow and a satchel of tampons on the table, andsomehow those two things make this whole place feel less like a nightmare. More real. More mine. My life.
Or something trying to become it.
Caziel hasn’t moved from his place by the hearth. He’s still watching the flames like they’re telling him secrets. He hasn’t said much since the Target discussion, but he hasn’t left either. Somehow that means more than words.
“I don’t know what you paid to do this,” I murmur. His gaze lifts. “But I know it wasn’t nothing.”
He says nothing. Which tells me enough. I smooth a hand down George’s back. He flattens his ears, but doesn’t move. Lazy tyrant.
“When I woke up here,” I continue, “I didn’t feel like me. Everything was off. Not just the danger or the rules or the whole trial-by-fire nonsense.” I pause. “I felt like a cardboard cutout of myself. Hollow.” Caziel shifts slightly. Not interrupting. Not comforting. Witnessing. “But this?” I say softly. “This feels real.”
George. The meds. The small, ridiculous human pieces of me. The parts that got lost somewhere in the panic. He brought them back.
“You didn’t just retrieve my cat,” I say. “You brought me back to myself.” Still no answer, but something flickers in his eyes. “You knew,” I whisper. “You knew that would matter.”
Caziel nods once. Then, quietly, “I hoped.”
I brush hair off my face. The fire crackles. George snores.
“I’m still scared,” I admit. “Still confused. Still very much a human girl who might actually die in a gladiator arena full of magical assholes.” Caziel huffs softly at that. “But right now,” I say, “for the first time since I got here… I feel like I’m not disappearing.”
He watches me, unmoving.
“You are not fading,” he says, voice low. “You are becoming.”
The words hit something soft in me. Becoming. It doesn’t promise safety. Or answers. Or survival. But it sees me, and maybe that’s enough.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He doesn’t respond, but he stays, and that says everything.
